The Politics of Command
by gwynhefar
Summary: Mirror!Verse. Sequel to The Adventures of Hannibal the Tribble. Hannibal vs. the Admiral. Who will win?


Captain James Tiberius Kirk arrived exactly on time. Not a minute too early or too late. He stood outside the Admiral's door in parade rest position, waiting to be admitted. In his formal uniform he looked the very model of a competent, ruthless, but overall _obedient_ Imperial Captain.

Well, except for the purring tribble on his shoulder. Hannibal was practically cuddling up to Jim's ear. The Admiral's secretary was staring at him. Jim paid him no mind.

Eventually, once the Admiral decided he'd been waiting long enough to be put in his place, Jim was admitted into the inner sanctum. The door snicked closed behind him, and Jim realised the only person in the room was Admiral Leek himself. Jim smirked inwardly. He loved it when they did his work for him.

"Ah, Captain. I see you brought your . . . pet," the Admiral indicated Hannibal.

"I have found him . . . useful . . . from time to time."

"So I have heard. You must forgive me if I'm a little . . . skeptical." Jim was really getting tired of all the pregnant pauses in the conversation. Time to cut to the chase.

"I believe Ensign Hannibal's record speaks for itself, sir," he said, placing a subtle mocking emphasis on the honourific. "Was there anything else?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Kirk!" the Admiral shouted, all pretense of civility gone. "You've made the Empire into a laughingstock, walking around with a damn _FLUFFBALL_ on your shoulder!"

Jim stood unruffled and calm in the face of the Admiral's anger.

"The Klingons we captured two months ago weren't laughing. Neither were the Tellurians whose ship we destroyed last week. Moreover, my crew don't seem to have a problem with Ensign Hannibal's presence either. In fact, assassination attempts have been down 20 percent since he signed on."

"It's an overgrown dustbunny, Kirk! It can't sign!"

"Forgive me, I was speaking . . . metaphorically." The Admiral's eyes narrowed.

"And if I ordered you to get rid of it?"

"It is a Captain's right to choose his own crew, Admiral."

"Is that a refusal?"

"It is a fact. You have yet to provide any valid reason for Ensign Hannibal's dismissal from service. When you come up with one, please do let me know. I can see myself out." And with a mocking bow, Jim pointedly turned his back on Leek. In the Empire, turning one's back implied that the other person was so far below you as to not be considered a threat. Jim knew the Admiral could not ignore the insult.

As if on cue, Hannibal launched himself from Jim's shoulder with a warcry-like squeal. Jim's hand moved subtly at his side. He turned around to calmly regard the Admiral, leaning as far back in his chair as he could, Hannibal perched triumphantly on his nearly-bald head, a dropped phaser powering down on the floor. Jim's hand moved again.

"Did I forget to mention, sir? Tribbles are _very _protective." Jim retrieved the phaser and pocketed it. The Admiral was white with rage.

"I'll have your commission for this! I'll have you drummed from the fleet! I'll put you through the _gauntlet_!" Jim just smirked.

"Oh I don't think so." He raised his hand to reveal a portable holorecorder. He played back the last few minutes, having captured for posterity the respected Admiral Leek rearing back in fear, dropping his phaser and shielding his face from . . . a furball. The scene ended with a nice shot of Leek looking stunned with Hannibal sitting on his head.

"By now, every officer on the Enterprise has a copy of this. Behave, and it'll stay on board the Enterprise. Cross me, and we'll see who's the laughingstock of the Empire. As I said, I'll see myself out." Jim gave Hannibal a fond look.

"Come, my pet," he quipped, resisting the urge to laugh like a cartoon villain. He plucked Hannibal from off the Admiral's head and put him back on his shoulder, where he started to purr. At the door, Jim looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Admiral? Ensign Hannibal could use a promotion. After all, Ensign Clarice is expecting. Useful creatures, tribbles. I do believe I shall make sure every member of my command staff has one. Have a nice day!"

Jim left without a backwards glance, sketching a jaunty salute to the flustered secretary. Hands in his pockets and Hannibal on his shoulder, he strode down the hall towards the transporter room, and the Enterprise, whistling.

The picture of Hannibal on Leek's head would look great on the wall of the Captain's quarters. He couldn't wait to show Bones.


End file.
